


Remembering Again (For the First Time)

by pallorsomnium



Series: Not for the First Time [1]
Category: Atonement (2007), Becoming Jane (2007), Centurion (2010), Frank Herbert's Children of Dune (2003), Inglourious Basterds (2009), Jane Eyre (2011), Merlin (TV), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crossover, Erik's Manpain, Established Relationship, First Time, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-Movie(s), Reincarnation, Sexual Content, Temporary Character Death, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-10-12
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-10-24 13:10:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/263854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pallorsomnium/pseuds/pallorsomnium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>(Merlin)</b> For once in their lifetimes, Merlin and Arthur believed they would live a life unburdened with hardship or responsibility. And then the North Korean Missile Crisis happened, and suddenly, the world—or at least its governments—are awakened to the presence of mutants. With the threat of another Holocaust in the distance, Merlin and Arthur will have to team up with the world’s leading mutants to once again protect the world they live in.<br/><b>(XMFC)</b> A year after the Accident, Charles was just beginning to construct a new life for himself and the boys when word comes that the United Nations are seriously considering what to be done about the mutant “threat.” Caught between preventing mutant registration and stopping Erik’s intentions of human genocide and plagued with unsettling dream-memories, he finds help in two people he would never have expected.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 00. Merlin and Arthur

**Author's Note:**

> So someone on Tumblr brought up a desire to see a Merlin/XMFC crossover, and the notion nagged and nagged at me, until suddenly I had at least five pages of planning and notes. Couple that with [this](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TX6FQyp4QcE) awesome reincarnation!AU Charles/Erik fanvid, and suddenly, the crossover idea became Serious Business. What even.
> 
> The time frame of XMFC has been shifted into modern times. Therefore, instead of the "divorce" happening in 1962 during the Cuban Missile Crisis, it happens in 2010 in a fictional confrontation similar to the CMC between N.Korea/Russia and S.Korea/US. (More explanation on this at the end.)
> 
> The chapters will alternate in perspective between Merlin, Arthur, Charles and Erik.
> 
> Beta'd by [the_beanster](http://the_beanster.livejournal.com) and [TerresDeBrume](http://archiveofourown.org/users/terresdebrume). Thanks to TerresDeBrume and [Fuchsia](http://orgyincamelot.tumblr.com) for letting me know that this crossover wasn't a crazy idea.
> 
> Without further ado, I hope you enjoy!

For once in their history of reincarnations, it wasn’t difficult at all for them to find each other.

They met in the fall of 1990, when Arthur saved Merlin from a bully two years their senior.

“Honestly, Merlin, I can’t leave you alone for one second, can I?” Arthur—now called Andrew—said without thinking, looking down at the tiny black-haired boy sprawled at his feet.

They sucked in a breath and froze at the same time, staring at each other with wide eyes.

 _Merlin finds him on the battlefield. There’s the sound of gunfire and explosions in the distance, but the battle has already moved on from this particular patch of land. Arthur is dying, bleeding out slowly from the bullet holes in his gut and leg. Merlin is a field doctor, but his medical knowledge won’t do Arthur any good, and even magic has its limits._

 _Arthur briefly wonders if this is Destiny’s way of retribution for opting to continue fighting alongside his men rather than move up into a higher position of power, where he would have had a bigger influence on the war. But his mind is hazy and black around the edges, and he can’t really think straight any longer. Instead he focuses on the familiar (always,_ always _familiar) man kneeling in the mud beside him._

 _“Oh god, Arthur,” Merlin chokes out, hands clinging to the lapels of Arthur’s mud-stained, blood-soaked uniform. He’s crying, tears cutting trails through the dirt smeared across his cheeks._

 _“Merlin.” Arthur reaches out to touch his face. Merlin grabs hold of his wrist, pressing his cheek to Arthur’s palm._

 _“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Arthur. I should have found you sooner.”_

 _“Don’t be,” Arthur tells him. It’s too late now, too late to regret or rail at Destiny for being unfair. At least, Merlin is there in his last moments, like he always is. “We’ll find each other sooner next time. Promise.”_

 _“A-all right.”_

 _Arthur’s last memory before dying is of Merlin’s lips pressed to his own, tasting gunpowder, dirt, blood and that distinct tang of pure Merlin._

They blinked. In seconds, they’re scrambling for each other—or rather, Arthur was tackling Merlin back to the ground in a fierce embrace. Merlin hugged him back with equal intensity, and for several minutes, they simply clung to each other.

They were still in the middle of the playground though, so eventually they pulled apart and sat crammed together on one end of a bench. They stared at each other, each trying to decide what to say first. It doesn’t get easier with every time they’re reborn.

“I’d kiss you, but we’re kind of…young,” Merlin finally remarked with a half-smile.

Arthur let out a bark of laughter and rested his forehead against Merlin’s.

“I know. It can wait,” he said, closing his eyes and just breathing Merlin in. Even reborn, Merlin still had that faint smell that made him uniquely _Merlin_.

“I’m Miles, by the way. Miles Emmett,” Merlin said after a moment.

Arthur smiled, his eyes still closed. “Andrew Carrow.”

 

\--+--

 

They were inseparable from that day onwards, spending every minute they could together—Merlin often sneaking to Arthur’s house at night through magical means. With some wheedling, Arthur and Merlin got their parents to send them to the same schools, and for the first time in all their reincarnations, they grew up together, learning what each other was like as a child, carefree and exceedingly young.

Merlin enjoyed seeing Arthur as a child, unburdened with the responsibilities of adulthood, let alone nobility. Arthur’s smile—his _genuine_ smile—had always been boyish and bright, but nothing compared to the smiles and laughter that now lit up his face and sent giddiness through Merlin at the sight of them.

Arthur, predictably, took enjoyment in teasing Merlin about his much-too-large ears and his even-more-ungainly limbs. But mostly, he liked getting into mischief and adventures with Merlin by his side (as it should always be).

While finding each other as children meant they couldn’t really do more than hug without feeling a bit like pedophiles, he wouldn’t give it up for the world. Because finding each other meant being _together_ again.

 

\--+--

 

It surprised no one when they came out together as a couple near the end of sixth form. They went on to the same schools for both undergraduate and postgraduate studies, though Merlin studied history (no point in wasting all the knowledge they’d gained over their lifetimes) while Arthur studied finance and marketing. When they graduated in the spring of 2010, Merlin pursued a teaching career, because teaching was certainly not something new to him, and Arthur started a business consulting firm, not wanting to work under another.

 

\--+--

 

In November 2010, only days after the G-20 summit in South Korea, a South Korean ship was attacked, killing all 120 of its crew. The response was almost immediate, with South Korean and American ships lining up against North Korean and Russian ones. Being out on the open sea, news of the confrontation travelled mostly by internet, several soldiers’ cell phones furtively capturing the stand-off and relaying it to the rest of the world. Everyone was holding their breath, fearing the dawn of nuclear warfare.

And then, as suddenly as the confrontation started, it ended, with all the ships retreating to where they’d come from. On the internet, there was a flood of reports from soldiers involved in the conflict, talking of men who could lift entire submarines and call up tornadoes and of children who could fly and shoot laser beams. The reports were swiftly taken down, but not before they were duplicated, and the world erupted into a frenzy. The public didn’t know for sure what’s happened, and news stations went wild over the accounts and blurry footage leaked onto the web of what was now being called the North Korean Missile Crisis. “It’s just a hoax,” most said, chalking up the videos of missiles suspended— _frozen—_ in the air and other impossible phenomenon to special effects and government conspiracy.

The governments revealed nothing to public, saying that the nations involved in the incident had decided to settle the conflict in civilized discourse rather than battle. They denied the authenticity of the reports and footage spread online but said nothing on the topic of super-humans.

But Arthur’s father was on the United Nations Security Council, and after a number of “surprise” visits and pointed conversations, Arthur and Merlin eventually wore him down, and Mr. Carrow swore them into confidentiality.

He told them that all reports of super-powered humans— _mutants_ —playing a role in the Crisis were true. He told them that an unmarked submarine attacked the South Korean ship and that a jet appeared from nowhere with a man who could drag the submarine straight out of the water and into the air. There was a battle the two military forces could barely follow, between the mutants from the submarine and the ones from the jet. And when their forces fired their missiles at the mutants, the missiles were turned back at them, before several heart-stopping moments later detonating in the air or falling into the sea. No one knew what happened to the mutants afterwards.

Mr. Carrow told them that the world’s governments were now trying to decide what to do, how to deal with the “mutant threat,” as he and many others called it. Arthur’s father wanted the mutants to be found and registered, for their identities to be disclosed to the entire world.

All Merlin and Arthur could think of (with horror) were the massacres of sorcerers and of Jews, gypsies, and gays.

 

\--+--

 

“So I guess we’re supposed to help in this whole mutant situation?” Merlin asked later, setting two mugs of hot chocolate on the coffee table as Arthur switched on the television.

“Probably,” Arthur answered with a shrug. To all the world, he would seem indifferent to the notion, but Merlin knew that Arthur was probably already considering what Destiny expected them to do. How would they get the powerless humans to accept the mutants among them? How would they prevent a second Holocaust, another senseless genocide? Merlin had been thinking about it too, but it was too early, the issue too new, for any certainty. They hadn’t even met a real mutant yet.

“To think for once I thought we would be able to live a normal life,” Merlin remarked, plopping down on the couch and leaning against Arthur’s side.

Arthur snorted. “And since when have we _ever_ lived a normal life?”

“I know, I know, but it’d have been nice, you know, for once,” Merlin said, pressing his face into Arthur’s shoulder.

Arthur dragged his fingers through Merlin’s hair, grinning when Merlin pushed back against his hand.

“Yeah, it would have been. We’ll just have to make the most of it while we can,” Arthur said.

“When do we not?” Merlin replied.

Arthur smiled and nudged him with a shoulder before they settled against each other to watch a movie.

 

\--+--

 

One day in late June, Merlin and Arthur were watching the television in their living room, waiting for news to come in from across the pond. They looked at each other when the announcement was made—New York had just legalized gay marriage.

“Well…” Arthur said with raised eyebrows. “I know we were planning on civil partnership...”

“But we’ll be in New York by the end of the next month,” Merlin remarked with a smile, knowing where this conversation was heading. He was more pleased than ever that he’d accepted the invitation to teach from Columbia University. And even if civil partnership in the UK had almost the same rights and responsibilities as marriage did, there was still the "almost." After all, marriage was still _marriage_.

“So…”

They grinned at each other, but didn’t speak at first, simply savoring (not for the first time) that they were living in a time when society didn’t look down on their love—at least not as much as before.

“So,” Arthur eventually said again, “yes?”

“Yes.”

Merlin launched himself across the sofa and into Arthur’s arms. They laughed out of simple joy and clung to each other tightly. Neither of them paid any attention when the television blinked off at the unconscious bidding of Merlin’s magic, too caught up in kissing each other breathless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “North Korean Missile Crisis” - I took inspiration for this accident from the ROSK Cheonan sinking, during which the ROSK Cheonan, a S.Korean Navy ship was torpedoed and sunk on March 2, 2010 near the island of Baengnyeong. The culprit of the attack is still unknown, though N.Korea has been blamed for the sinking. The uncertainties behind this led me to choose this incident as the Cuban Missile Crisis for the story, though the sinking did not garner the same response the CMC did. However, the US and the S.Korean navies were holding warfare exercises nearby, which was convenient for me to stage a standoff similar to US vs Russia standoff. I pushed the incident back to late October because South Korea was in the middle of preparations for the G-20 Summit around then, so there was a bigger world focus in that region then.


	2. 01. Charles

_It’s late when he finally finds his way out of the woods, the sun much lower in the sky than he would have liked._

 _“Just a short walk,” his uncle had said. “Get some fresh air, see the countryside. It’ll do you some good.”_

 _He huffs at the memory. It’ll serve his uncle right when he starts worrying about his missing nephew. Because he is utterly and hopelessly lost. He smacks the bush away from his path with his walking stick and trudges out of the woods. He is immediately greeted with the sight of a tall imposing building, a hall—a castle, really—that he’s seen no rival for. He’s in the property’s garden, and despite its immaculate condition, there’s a wildness to it, perhaps from being on the edge of the woods. He searches his memory for where he could possibly be. Haddock? Thornfield?_

 _He then spots a man seated on a wrought-iron bench, bent over a thick volume. His clothes are fine, their quality those of a high-class gentleman, which is a bit of a surprise in this countryside, but his collar isn’t buttoned and his dark coat is long and sweeps to the ground. He doesn’t recall seeing this man in society before and wonders why._

 _He tips his hat against the glare of sun before heading towards the man._

 _“Excuse me?” he calls. “Thomas Lefroy. Terribly sorry, but I’ve gotten a bit turned around in the woods. Could you help me—”_

 _His voice dies in his throat when the man looks up at him._

 _—Erik—_

Charles gasped, eyes snapping open to see the bleach white ceiling above him. Pain flooded him, into his head and into his body—except his legs. His legs still felt nothing.

He heard someone call his name, and a hand squeezed his. But the hand was too soft, too small.

He closed his eyes and immediately slipped away from consciousness again.

 

\--+--

 

He finished his therapy for the day at four, like he’d had for the past month. His therapist was pleased with his progress. Charles knew he was improving; he hadn’t had this much upper body strength in years. As he wheeled himself into the more frequented halls of the hospital, he strengthened the walls of his mind, shielding him from the thoughts of others around him until he heard almost nothing but his own. He had always avoided hospitals; there was only so much pain, despair and madness from outside that he could withstand. His powers had strengthened since he first woke up after That Day, and he’d worked to perfect his shielding. (Besides, the one mind he wished to hear was lost to him now.)

Moira was waiting for him in his private room. He breathed out the flash of irritation he felt because she didn’t deserve it. She’d been patient and kind. Not understanding, exactly, because she simply couldn’t understand what he was recovering from—physically, emotionally, mentally. But without even his request, she had taken over the care of the boys and made sure all his hospital paperwork was in order. But Charles had never liked to be coddled (he’d never _been_ coddled before), and the _guilt-worry-compassion_ mixed into the feelings Moira had for him simply rubbed him in the wrong way.

He smiled and greeted her, “Good afternoon, Moira dear.”

“Hello, Charles. The boys wanted me to pass on their hellos as well.”

“Thank you. Pass mine along as well. I do miss them.”

“Of course. And I’ve heard the good news. You’re being released Monday?”

“Yes, marvelous, isn’t it?” Charles replied, smiling though he didn’t feel the happiness and relief she expected from him. He wasn’t quite sure yet if he was looking forward to leaving the hospital. He didn’t know if he was _ready_ to return to the outside world. But he couldn’t leave the boys alone forever, and there was only so long Moira could hold off the CIA and the rest of the world’s agencies. (And then there was Erik, and Charles tried to avoid thinking about him—and Raven.)

“I’ll let the boys know. They’ll be happy to hear it.”

Charles nodded his thanks. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to clean up a bit,” he said, gesturing down at his sweat-soaked shirt with a grimace.

“Of course. I’ll be right outside.” Moira left the room, and Charles let out a sigh before wheeling across the room to the attached bathroom.

 

\--+--

 

 _He can’t keep his eyes away from the centurion prisoner. Ever since the warriors had dragged the man into the palace, he’s been finding excuses to walk by the room the man is being kept in, to lurk in the shadows, watching the prisoner through the open doorway. What is it about this foreigner that draws him towards him? What is it about this man that made it feel as if his world had collapsed down to a single point of focus when he first laid eyes on him?_

 _The centurion is locked behind iron bars in the center of the room, and there are always three guards in rotation watching him. The man watches them in turn, eyes half-lidded but alert, sitting cross-legged on the floor. He’s been stripped of his armor, dressed in a loose tunic and trousers. The clothes do nothing to hide the strength and feeling of_ danger _contained within the man’s body._

 _He can’t remember that last time he’s seen such a man, felt such fascination._

 _His sister, of course, notices his preoccupation. (There isn’t much he could hide from her.) They usually spent their afternoons together, draped over each other and catching up with their studies, but he’s wandering the halls again, drawn back to the room where the centurion is. She finds him outside that room, tucked into an alcove._

 _“What is it, Leto? You’ve been watching the centurion for hours,” she says to him._

 _“You don’t feel it too, Sister?” he asks, eyes still fixed on the man._

 _“Feel what? From the centurion?”_

 _“He draws me in like a moth to a flame. What does our aunt plan for him? He does not deserve to be caged like an animal.”_

 _“She hasn’t said.” She looks at him, and he knows she reads his expression easily. “…you’re infatuated with him.”_

 _“Ghani! I am not,” he protests._

 __  
_She shakes her head. “I know that look on your face; do not deny it.”_

 _He exhales sharply, keeping calm. “He fascinates me, yes, but I’m_ not _infatuated with him.”_

 _Ghani looks very unconvinced, and even he realizes he isn’t going to win this discussion. He looks away from her, looks back at the man still sitting behind bars._

 _“Leto, his people are trying to invade our kingdom. What is it that you wish to achieve from this?”_

 _“Yes, the fact hasn’t escaped me. I just—” He stutters to a stop when the centurion suddenly looks up, his gaze cutting through the shadows and straight into his eyes._

Charles jerked awake, feeling as if he’d had all the air sucked out of him.

It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling.

At least three times a week, Charles dreamed strange dreams, of lifetimes as men from various historical settings. And often, he dreamed of meeting men with Erik’s face, but different names and different origins. (He wasn’t sure—didn’t want to think—of what that said about his subconscious.)

Charles had thought that the hospital’s environment had been what was affecting his dreams. But now, he was in his first night back in the mansion, sleeping in a first floor study the boys and Moira had re-fitted into a bedroom specifically for him. It wasn’t because of the hospital after all.

He rolled slightly, just enough for him get his arms under him and push himself up into a sitting position. The watch on his nightstand read 6:17, which was about the usual time he got up nowadays. Even when his dreams weren’t troubling him, the dreams of the other hospital patients were even more unpleasant to go through. He used to be quite a night owl, but circumstances had obviously kept him from continuing his usual sleeping habits recently. Perhaps later, he’d work on waking up at a more reasonable time, but for now, he didn’t mind the early mornings. The quiet was nice for a change.

He stretched out his consciousness to fill the entire mansion, checking on the boys and Moira. Hank was already up and about in the lab. Sinking into Hank’s mind briefly, Charles discovered that the young scientist functioned better on several naps a day—a side effect of his now amplified mutation it seemed. Everyone else—Sean, Alex, and Moira—were still asleep and dreaming. Sean and Alex’s dreams were untroubled, but Moira’s were filled with an undercurrent of worry. The CIA was putting more pressure on her, and she feared when the time came that she would be forced to fully report. She didn’t know what to do, loyalty torn between her country and her friendship.

Charles sighed, looking down at his hands clenched in the sheets covering his lap. He had dreaded when the day would come, when he would be forced to let go of another person he considered family. But he had to, for the boys, for all the mutants he planned to take in in the future. He could still wait a few days though, just enough for him to reacclimate himself to living in the mansion and for the boys to get used to his presence again.

He pulled his mind away from everyone, tamping down on his awareness until it covered only his own room. He glanced wistfully at his watch again; he had a feeling it was going to be a long day.

 

\--+--

 

“I’ll come pick you up at the same time as usual, Professor?” Alex asked once Charles was properly settled in his chair.

“Yes, thank you, Alex. That’ll be all,” Charles replied with a nod.

He didn’t even have to brush against the boy’s mind to see his reluctance to leave, and Charles relied on his admittedly wearing thin patience to muster a smile and a look of ease. He watched his student drive away and promised himself to re-learn to drive when he got the opportunity to do so, though he feared that would not be anytime soon. He turned his chair around and started his way through the campus.

It’d been over a year since Baengnyeong, since his life took an abrupt left turn. He’d already sent Moira away, her memories wiped clean, and he was now in charge of three teenage boys in a mansion much too large for the four of them. He hoped, in time, that the mansion would be filled with warmth and people. (Perhaps one day, it would feel like home.)

A sense of something—a _mutant_ —called his attention to the building on his left. However, he found nothing but humans when he stretched his senses out. It had happened before, so he brushed the occurrence to the back of his mind and continued his way through campus.

He taught now, at Columbia University, two seminars a day, Tuesdays and Thursdays. It wasn’t permanent, not decidedly, but Hank was only just beginning to re-construct Cerebro. Without Cerebro, Charles couldn’t find the mutant children he would want to take in as students. So he’d gone with the alternative, teaching the bright minds of the next generation about genetics and, most importantly, the “highly probable” existence of mutants around them. The missile crisis had exposed mutants to the world, but the mutant community was keeping itself quiet, and most humans were questioning the truth, wondering if mutant existence was simply a government hoax. He didn’t know for sure how the world governments were reacting though, not entirely. He made a note to himself to have Hank do some covert research in his spare time—something he probably should have done a long time ago. Knowing Hank, the young scientist might already be doing so.

When he crossed the threshold into the Fairchild building, Charles gathered his thoughts, running through what he needed to get done before class this morning.

 

\--+--

 

“Charles!” He quickly recognized the voice calling him as that of Professor Julie Phillips, a charming woman teaching undergraduate history and anthropology. He’d met her because of her interest in using genetics to understand the past—Charles had always been more interested in what genetics said about the future, for obvious reasons. She reminded him of Moira, and he didn’t wonder—tried not to wonder—if he occasionally accepted her invitation to lunch because of that or because of the guilt he felt for taking Moira’s memories.

He scanned the tables for where her voice was coming from, quickly spotting her raised hand at a table still several feet away. There was someone else with her, which wasn’t much of a surprise. Ever since he first made her acquaintance, she’d taken to introducing him to various professors from the university, to make him feel welcome and aid his transition into being part of the school. He appreciated it, really, but there were times when he was simply…tired, when he would have preferred to spend time with the boys, with other mutants, with those who _understood_. (He tried not to think of Erik at those times.)

The man Julie had brought with her to lunch this time was incredibly skinny and tall, with pale skin and dark hair, rather unfortunately large ears and incredibly sharp cheekbones. He looked young, no older than Charles himself. In fact he could have passed as a student, dressed in a dark pea coat, a bright red scarf, jeans and converses. He also looked vaguely familiar, though Charles suspected it might simply be from unknowingly crossing paths on campus.

With a smile, Charles maneuvered his way around chairs and tables to reach them. And then Charles felt it. That strange little pulse he would sometimes sense while on campus, like earlier that morning. Usually it meant he had found a mutant. He’d tried searching for the source before, but it would always blip out of existence before long. It was nothing like the distinct undercurrent he usually sensed running through a mutant’s mind. And the source of this strange pulse, it seemed, was this man sitting before him with a welcoming grin.

“Julie, a pleasure to see you again.” He then looked at the man, the new _mutant_ , and introduced himself. “Hello, I’m Charles Xavier.” He was eager to discover who this man was—what his mutation was, if he’d met other mutants, what his thoughts were on mutants, why he was _different_ —but Charles restrained himself, respected the man’s privacy and kept only to the very surface of the man’s mind. (He’d learned his lesson, a year ago.)

 “Hi. I’m—” _Merlin_ , Charles caught from the man’s mind like a whisper, but the man instead said, “Miles Emmett.” His voice was a surprising comfort; it had been too long since Charles had spoken to a fellow Englishman. Miles extended a hand to him, and Charles took it, preparing himself for whatever thoughts he might pick up as they shook hands.

 _—Oh right, she said he studied in Oxford. I wonder when was the last time he’d gone back?—_

Strangely, there wasn’t much else he could pick up, just a pleasant eagerness to meet him. He wondered if Miles had a mutation that shielded him from telepathy. (A small, bitter part of him thought of how jealous Erik would be of that.) The thoughts he managed to catch, however, intrigued him not because of what the man was thinking, but because of the quality of his mind—an astounding mixture of youthfulness and profound age that didn’t fit someone of Mile’s age or appearance.

“Miles here is guest-teaching for a year,” Julie said.

“Oh? Where are you from, Mr. Emmett? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Just call me Miles. I’m from London. Are you English?”

“I was born in England, raised here in New York. I’m sure Julie has mentioned that I studied at Oxford.”

“Yes, she did.”

“Are you a history professor like Julie?” Charles ventured a guess.

“Yes, European history, and medieval literature—I’m mostly here for the history part,” Miles answered with a small quirk of his lips. “You’re a…biology professor?”

“I teach genetics—I’m particularly interested in mutations,” Charles added, watching the man carefully.

There was a flash of recognition in Mile’s eyes before the man said, “I bet your students ask you a lot about mutants then. What do you think about what’s going on now? You think they’re real?”

“Certainly. My very thesis postulated the existence of mutants. I was hardly surprised when the reports showed up.”

It had been painful, actually, to see those reports. They’d brought up all the memories of Baengnyeong that he’d been trying to avoid thinking about. After the first few, he’d asked for the hospital to not leave out newspapers for him during the first two weeks he’d been there.

“Oh? I’d love to read it sometime. I’ve never met a mutant before—at least not that I know of—but I believed they were out there somewhere too. It was nice to have confirmation, even if it is still a bit unclear.”

Charles considered his options for a moment. Miles was aware of other mutants and was, by all indications, a good man—Charles could tell that even without being able to read Miles’ mind. He decided to take a risk and cautiously gives the man’s mind a nudge.

 _Sorry, forgive me for intruding, but you are a mutant, aren’t you?_ he sent to Miles’ mind just a little louder than he was accustomed to, worried that Miles might not actually hear him. He was answered with surprised curiosity, but the surprise he felt from Miles isn’t nearly as strong as he would expect.

Miles raised his brows at Charles before smiling and sending his way, _Oh, that’s_ brilliant _! You’re one too. I’ve never met another before._

Charles felt himself breaking into a smile; it’d been a long time since he’s seen an adult mutant (considering the ones he knew of were all part of Shaw’s—now _Erik’s_ —brood).

 _Again, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Miles_ , Charles replied, smiling in return. “Julie has heard this all before, and I’d rather not bore her again. Would you like to perhaps meet up again tomorrow and discuss the topic?”

“Oh it’s hardly a bore,” Julie remarked before Miles answered, “Yes, definitely. Just say when and where.”

“How about at the Starbucks on 125th and 7th? Tomorrow at 3?”

“Sure, that’s perfect,” Miles replied, and they settled down properly to eat lunch.

Charles glanced over at Julie, and wasn’t surprised by the pleased look on her face. It was the first time he’d taken to someone she’d introduced to him.

The rest of the meal was spent talking about more innocuous subjects. Charles learned that Miles got married three months ago to the boy he met in primary school (which Charles found absolutely charming), that Miles and his husband had attended St. Andrew’s for both undergraduate and postgraduate studies and had graduated the same year Charles had, and that Miles had a more massive knowledge of medieval literature and history than anyone would expect from a professor so young and shared it almost ruefully when prompted.

Miles left with Julie half an hour after noon, both of them having to teach at one. Charles spent his remaining time before his two o’ clock class speculating on Merlin’s mutation and thinking up lecture plans for his classes as well as for the boys at home.

 

\--+--

 

Charles broached the subject of meeting Miles during dinner (cooked by Sean because after overcoming the fear that the boy might put something not entirely meant for consumption in their food, they found that Sean was actually a decent cook). One would think that he’d grown a second head with the way the boys gaped at him, eating utensils frozen midway between their plates and mouths.

“I shouldn’t have to tell you this, but _do_ close your mouths when eating. Did I say something wrong?” he asked, though he knew their shock was because nowadays he never left Westchester except for teaching at Columbia and buying groceries and other necessities (because he didn’t _quite_ trust Sean and Alex with a credit card).

“You want me to take you into the city to _meet_ someone?” Alex said.

“Yes, I’m fairly certain that’s what I said,” Charles replied, arching a brow at him.

“As in a-a _date_?” Sean squawked.

“I beg your pardon?” Charles tried not to splutter. “ _No._ _Certainly_ not. I’m not interested, and Mr. Emmett is _married._ ”

He picked up variations of “ _It could have been an affair…”_ from the three boys and glowered at them.

“This is ridiculous. You three have been watching far too much television,” he chided. “And I will reiterate that this is _not_ a date, but more like a meeting. Mr. Emmett is a mutant, and while I’d rather not disclose the house’s location to anyone just yet, I would like to get to know him. He’s a professor, and if luck will have it, he might be willing to become a teacher here.”

“What’s his power?”

“I don’t know, to be truthful,” Charles admitted, earning him wide-eyed looks of disbelief. “I believe part of his mutation makes him partially resistant to telepathy. It’s quite fascinating actually.”

“Professor, if you can’t read his mind, are you sure he can be trusted then?” Hank inquired.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’m fully capable of taking care of myself. We’re meeting in public, and he’s a _professor_ for heaven’s sake. I will not disclose any information about us to him unless I deem it safe to do so,” he reassured them.

“…we’re actually going to have real schoolwork now, aren’t we?” Sean moaned.

“If Mr. Emmett proves himself to be trustworthy and is willing, then yes. I’ve been lenient on your education so far, and that simply will not do.” Charles blithely ignored the identical groans Sean and Alex let out and finished his plate of food. Unsurprisingly, Hank made not a peep; Charles mostly exempted him from lessons, since they spent time together working in the lab regardless. “Hank, I’ll meet with you in an hour. Until then, I leave you three to your own devices.” Charles put his dishes into the sink and added, “And, Alex, it’s your turn to wash the dishes.”

“Yes, Professor,” came a chorus of replies as Charles gave them a smile over his shoulder and left the kitchen.

 

\--+--

 

 _He takes a long drag from the cigarette he presses to his lips, feeling the tobacco fill his lungs. Discarding the cigarette, he slowly blows the smoke back out, tipping his head back towards the ceiling and closing his eyes._

 _He’s thinking about_ him _again, Lieutenant Archie Hicox. He doesn’t understand but does not fight the undeniable attraction he feels towards the man. The lieutenant seems to feel very much the same about him, and it had been difficult to take his eyes off him at the dinner._

 _Whatever seems to exist between them though, nothing can come of it, not during the war, and it’s more likely that not that one or both of them won’t come out of the war alive._

 _With a sigh, he sits up properly and turns the chair around to face his desk. He eyes the typewriter, paper already inserted and ready in the contraption. Never has it looked more intimidating._

 _Hicox had suggested letter correspondence, but he’d made it clear that Robbie should make the first move, perhaps in consideration of his uncertainties—and the fact that he is only in the army in the first place because of a scandal, false though it’d been. Robbie had agreed, promising to write as soon as he was free to do so, but the paper for the letter has been drawn up for the past three days, and he has not touched it once._

 _His fingers hover over the keys. He doesn’t know how to address him. Lieutenant Hicox? Hicox? Archie Hicox? Archie?_

 _He stares at the keys, and they look like they’re taunting him. He thinks “fuck it” and punches out “Archie.” He looks at the blocky letters of the lieutenant’s name, sharp black ink on heavy white paper. He then throws caution to the wind and writes the letter, choosing to continue the debate they’d left unfinished at the dinner. He could just imagine the little half-smile pulling on the man’s lips when he reads Robbie’s letter—the same smile he’d shown whenever he’d found whatever Robbie was saying amusing._

When his eyes opened to the morning light, Charles almost expected to see the cluttered desk to the left of his bed and the typewriter resting on the desktop. He blinked at the wall of his bedroom instead.

Charles ran a hand over his face. He had dreamed he was Robbie Turner again, and he didn’t understand how he knew with certainty that Robbie never received a letter back. (He died before he got the chance.) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My knowledge of Columbia University and New York City is limited to the few trips I've made to the city and the college visit I made to the school 2-3 years ago (in which I fell in love with the school and then it broke my heart -cough-) and what I could find on the internet. I apologize if I...bent a few things to make it fit into the fic the way I needed it to.
> 
> And for those who haven't caught on:  
> Thomas LeFroy is acted by James McAvoy in _Becoming Jane_.  
>  Leto, also acted by James McAvoy, is from _Children of Dune_ , but since _Dune_ is set in a sci-fi/fantasy world, I've transplanted him and Arrakis into some random desert kingdom being invaded by the Romans.  
>  The centurion Leto is -coughmakingeyesatcough- fascinated by is Quintas Dias, acted by Michael Fassbender, in _The Centurion_.  
>  Robbie Turner is from _Atonement_ , also acted by McAvoy.  
> Archie Hicox, also acted by Fassbender, is from _Inglourious Basterds_.  
>  Edward Rochester has also appeared, though he hasn't been named. Fassbender plays him in the latest movie for _Jane Eyre_.
> 
> In conclusion, yes, this fic is one big Fassavoy/McFassy fest.


	3. 02. Merlin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So terribly sorry for the wait! I've finally finished writing this chapter!! :D
> 
> Unbeta'd at the moment.

“I’m back. Arthur?” Merlin called. The light was on in the living room, glowing yellow down the hallway, but the rest of the flat was dark. Arthur probably hadn’t moved from that room since lunchtime. Merlin dumped his bag by the door before throwing his coat and scarf on the nearest of the coat hooks on the wall. He headed straight for the living room.

Arthur sat curled up in the armchair by the balcony, with his laptop balanced on one of the armrests. He had his glasses on—the wire framed glasses that, in all honesty, turned him on whenever Arthur wore them (and Arthur knew this _very_ well)—and his hair was ruffled from running his hands through it too many times. Arthur clearly had not heard Merlin come in, too caught up in his work. Merlin leaned against the entryway into the room, watching Arthur tap away at his keyboard. He smiled at the warmth that filled him as it always did when it came to Arthur.

Merlin would give anything to live the ordinary life, to be just two husbands (Merlin still grinned like an idiot whenever he saw the ring on Arthur’s finger) living normal everyday lives and growing old together. But Destiny always brought them back for some purpose, and if his instincts were correct about meeting one Charles Xavier, then Destiny’s plans for them were about to begin.

Merlin pushed off the wall and sauntered across the room. He planted himself in front of the armchair, and it was only then that Arthur looked up. He blinked up at Merlin before his entire face brightened. Merlin’s smile widened as the laptop was relegated to the corner table and Arthur shifted around and pulled Merlin closer by the hips to stand between his legs.

“Hello,” Arthur murmured, briefly squeezing Merlin’s hips. He pressed his face to Merlin’s stomach, and Merlin ran a hand through Arthur’s soft hair out of habit and fondness.

“Hello yourself, prat,” Merlin then said, tugging lightly on a fistful of hair. He could almost feel the smile Arthur pressed against his belly. “You didn’t even notice me come in. Whatever happened to ‘knightly prowess’ and being aware of your surroundings?” he teased.

Arthur huffed and leaned back to look up at Merlin properly. “What’s the use of it against you? It’s not like _you’re_ going to attack me,” he scoffed.

In Arthur-speak, that meant that Arthur trusted Merlin enough to let his guard down completely.

Merlin beamed before nudging the side of Arthur’s head with a hand.

“Come on, shove over.”

Arthur grumped about the armchair being not big enough for the both of them, but let go of Merlin and scooted over. Merlin squeezed himself into the chair, though he ended up mostly sitting on Arthur’s lap (not that either of them minded). Arthur wrapped an arm around Merlin’s waist, tugging him a little closer.

“You’re ridiculously chirpier than usual. Tell me,” Arthur said.

“I met someone!” Merlin declared, beaming.

“…do I have to go beat someone up for hitting on my husband?” Arthur remarked, but the fond twist to his otherwise grumpy pout didn’t match the narrowing of his eyes.

Merlin smacked Arthur’s arm. “No! Don’t you dare beat him up! Arthur, I met a _mutant_. His name’s Charles Xavier, and he’s a professor at Columbia, teaching genetics.”

Arthur arched a brow at him. “So he just went up to you and outed himself as a mutant,” he remarked.

“Julie invited me to lunch with her and Charles.” Noticing Arthur’s furrowed brown, Merlin added, “Julie, that history and anthropology professor.” At the light of recognition in Arthur’s eyes, Merlin continued, “I think he’s a telepath; he spoke into my mind.”

Arthur’s arm tightened around Merlin’s waist as he asked, “Does he know about us?”

Merlin shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. He thinks I’m a mutant too, and I played along just to be safe. We’re meeting tomorrow to talk more.”

“Do I need to come with you?” Arthur inquired.

“No, you have work, don’t you? I’ll be fine.”

“Just be careful. Contact me if you need help, all right?”

“Yeah, of course,” Merlin replied. “I _can_ take care of myself, remember? So, how was _your_ day? Eventful?”

Arthur immediately started ranting about the disastrous two hours he had spent on the phone with his latest client’s furniture supplier. With a smile, Merlin snuggled closer to him, making noises of sympathy and understanding at the appropriate moments and simply soaking in Arthur’s presence.

 

\--+-- 

 

Charles wasn’t there yet when Merlin arrived at the Starbucks they’d agreed upon. It wasn’t too far from Columbia, but far enough that the number of students sitting about wasn’t staggering. Merlin ordered a coffee before settling into one of the small tables meant for two by the window front of the café.

Charles was a telepath, and Merlin wondered just how much of his mind the man had seen. A long, long time ago, when Merlin was a shaman and Arthur his chief, he had cast a spell to protect their minds from being controlled by magic. It had held ever since, and he wondered if the spell provided protection from telepathy as well. Although, if Charles turned out to provide the way for Merlin and Arthur to fulfill their destiny this time, they would have to tell him the truth (their stories) eventually.

As Merlin looked out the window, a sleek van pulled up in front of the café with Charles sitting in the passenger seat. The driver, a young man about twenty—tall, lithe, and blond—slid out of the van and went to the back. He pulled out a wheelchair—Charles’ very distinctive wheelchair with the large X’s over the wheels—as Charles opened his door. After a pointed look at the boy, Charles slid, unaided, out of the van and into his chair. He and the driver exchanged words before the boy nodded, got back into the van and left.

When Charles turned his chair towards the café, Merlin smiled and waved, and the telepath responded with his own smile and an inclination of his head before heading for the entrance. Charles ordered a cup of Earl Grey and soon, he was sitting across the table from Merlin with a bright smile.

“Good morning, Miles. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble coming here, and _me_ being the one late. I’m terribly sorry,” Charles said.

Merlin couldn’t help smiling at how proper Charles seemed to always sound.

“Morning, Charles. No worries. I just came from class,” Merlin replied.

“Do you teach every day?”

“Every day but Thursday, but today I only had one class to teach so I’m done for the day. So…” Merlin folded his arms on the table and leaned forward. “You’re a telepath,” he said in a hushed tone. He glanced away from Charles, making a pretense of checking for accidental eavesdroppers and casting a spell to lower everyone’s awareness of the two men seated by the window. The gold in his eyes was gone by the time he turned back.

“Yes, I am, but I’m aware that even among mutants, my power is not…particularly welcome. I must assure you that I never read a person’s mind without permission,” Charles said, and Merlin had enough practice studying hidden facial cues from Arthur that he didn’t miss the distressed sadness Charles quickly hid away. “I keep my power to the lowest level possible, which means only surface thoughts—whatever is being thought or felt particularly loudly.”

“That sounds like it takes a lot of concentration,” Merlin said. He wondered if it was like the times when he had so much magic running through him that his senses were thrown out to the ends of the earth, running through the earth and water and air and every living thing, and he had to struggle to keep his mind inside his own body. Merlin considered the possibility of comparing magic to telepathy, but he supposed that would have to depend on exactly how powerful of a telepath Charles was.

Charles shrugged and said, “It’s the price I have to pay. I’m fairly used to it now. I hardly notice. But _you_ , Mr. Emmett, are quite special it seems.” Charles took a sip from his tea. He then winced and remarked, “I remember now why I usually prefer making my own tea.”

Merlin gave him a brief grin before asking, “What do you mean by special?”

“My mutation allows me to sense mutants in the area. Every mind is unique, but there is a distinct signal, a background hum you might say, that tells me whether a person is a mutant or not. You, however, your signal isn’t constant or even regular; it blinks on and off in no discernible pattern—at the very least, not from the times I’ve sensed you on campus. And what’s more fascinating, your mind is shielded from me. I’d have to make more of an effort to read your mind. Normally, I at the very least pick up surface thoughts, but I can only pick up snatches from you,” Charles said, unknowingly answering Merlin’s musings on his mind protection spell. It worked against telepathy too.

“Huh. Interesting.” Perhaps the signal Charles picked up had to do with Merlin’s magic.

“It could very well be part of your mutation. If I may ask, what precisely is your mutation?”

“Telekinesis and pyrokinesis,” Merlin answered. He and Arthur had agreed that until they learned more about Charles, Merlin would carry on pretending he was a mutant. (Although, who knew, there might be a mutant out there capable of using magic.)

“ _Two_ mutations? That’s fascinating,” Charles remarked, blue eyes brightening. “I know of a few with secondary mutations, but I’ve never had the chance to consider them so much. I’ve wondered with the two abilities are required to be related to each other. In your case, they’re both kinetic abilities, of course, but in others—” Charles paused, looking a little sheepish. “I’m sorry. I probably sounded more excited than I should have.” Charles grimaced.

Merlin grinned and shook his head. “No, it’s all right. I’m curious, too. What other kinds of powers are out there? “

And Charles proceeded to list and describe the many different types of mutants he’d encountered, from super strength to plasma rings to teleportation to flight. Charles wanted to study what genes made mutants what they were and how a mutant’s abilities were determined.

They spent the next hour talking, but eventually, Charles paused in the middle of speaking and smiled sheepishly.

“Sorry, it looks like Alex is getting rather antsy. I think I should be leaving,” he said.

“Oh yeah, sure. I guess we could talk some more tomorrow?” Merlin suggested.

“Absolutely. Tomorrow, for lunch?”

After settling lunch details, Charles raised two fingers to his temple—a gesture likely meant for Merlin’s benefit, he thought. Five minutes later, the van Merlin had seen earlier pulled up in front of the café. After exchanging partings, Charles drove off with the blond from before, Alex, and Merlin headed home.

 

\--+--

 

He and Charles took to eating lunch together on campus, every Tuesday and Thursday, which were the days Charles was on campus. Sometimes, they ate off campus on the days Charles didn’t teach as well. Merlin suspected that he was the first adult “mutant” that Charles has spoken to in a while, and he feels a little guilty for his obfuscation in the face of Charles’ enthusiasm. He pushed the guilt away though; if his instincts were correct, he’d be revealing the truth to the telepath eventually. Until then, though, he was determined to find out as much as he could about the mutant situation—that Charles knew of—outside attention kept away from their conversations with Charles’ telepathy and the secret help of Merlin’s magic.

There were days when Charles would fall into a brooding silence, the brightness of his eyes dimmed and his knuckles white from gripping the arms of his chair so tightly. Julia had hinted to Merlin that Charles had only become a paraplegic recently, but she hadn’t been sure. Merlin suspected that something more serious than a car accident led to Charles’ current state.

It showed in how Charles would skirt around certain topics—what he suspected happened during the North Korean Missile Crisis, for one—and in the tightness in the corner of his eyes and mouth when he mentioned offhand some of the other mutations he’d encountered or knew of. On those days, when Charles’ paralysis seemed to frustrate him or his thoughts were dark enough for Merlin to actually _feel_ them, Merlin would guide the conversations away from mutants, instead regaling Charles with tales of his and Arthur’s misadventures, sneaking in tales of the knights’ antics long ago—tweaking them to fit the modern times, of course.

While discussing Merlin’s courses, he discovered that, ironically enough, one of Charles’ favorite novels was _The Once and Future King_. The novel certainly got things wrong, but Merlin had enjoyed reading it. Merlin was amused as to how Charles would react when he discovered that the man he knew as Miles was indeed _the_ Merlin and Andrew was _the_ Once and Future King. Arthur seemed to look forward to it, if the mischievous smirk on his face when Merlin mentioned the matter was anything to go on.

Charles, Merlin eventually found out, was incredibly rich and the unofficial guardian of three mutant boys: Hank, a genius scientist whose mutation had turned him big, blue, and furry; Alex, the one capable of generating plasma rings; and Sean, the boy who could generate sound waves, like sonar, and could use them to shatter glass and fly. Merlin gathered that Charles had wanted to start a school for mutant children to be safe and to learn how to control their powers, but the Accident, however it had happened, had postponed his hopes indefinitely. Merlin personally found Charles to be a wonderful teacher and a man with great goodness in him and could very well see the man instructing and protecting mutant children. If it had to be anyone that Destiny chose for Merlin and Arthur to work with on the mutant issue, then he was glad it was likely Charles.

 

\--+--

 

The sound of Merlin’s phone vibrating on the nightstand by the bed woke him up from his Thursday morning lie-in. He’d woken up briefly to send Arthur off to his appointments with his clients, but had crawled back under the comforter and gone back to sleep right afterwards. Presently, Merlin stuck a hand out of his warm cocoon of cotton and goose down and groped around for the phone. Upon finding it, he pulled it under the covers and squinted at the screen.

_My father just called. We’re about to have a problem._

Merlin frowned. Mr. and Mrs. Carrow called them every week, just as Merlin’s parents did, so that didn’t merit concern, but what Arthur’s father might have said might.

_What’s wrong?_ Merlin texted back. He clambered out of bed and decided now was a good time as any to get through his morning ablutions as he waited for Arthur’s reply.

_UN is serious about mutant registration. I’ll tell you more later –_ was the message on his phone after he’s pulled on a shirt and jeans. Then his phone vibrated again. _BTW good morning. I love you :) – A._

Even as Merlin’s thoughts began racing, wondering how to proceed with this news, he smiled at the last message before tucking the phone into his pocket and traipsing across the flat to the kitchen.

 

\--+--

 

Merlin couldn’t help but be a little distracted when he met up with Charles at lunchtime, but Charles was too polite to pry and Merlin didn’t want to alarm the man about the registration threat before he had heard more details from Arthur.

When Arthur returned home, Merlin was waiting for him by the door instead of in the kitchen or living room.

“Merlin,” Arthur greeted him before leaning in for a quick kiss. “Let’s talk at the table. I wrote down the details I could get.”

Once they were seated, Arthur pulled out a legal pad and passed it to Merlin.

As Merlin read through Arthur’s scrawl, the wrinkle between his brows deepened. The details sounded benign enough, but that was all the more worrying; more people will support the registration. Nothing good came out of identifying those with powers people can’t understand, especially if many are still children as Charles suspected.

“I have to warn Charles,” he said once he looked up to catch Arthur’s eye.

“He didn’t leave you a phone number, did he?” Arthur asked.

Merlin shook his head, but reached over and fished Arthur’s laptop out of his bag.

“I’ll email his university email and hope he checks it soon.”

 

\--+--

 

He met with Charles early the next morning. Though Charles didn’t have classes to teach, he had agreed to drop by Merlin’s office.

“What’s the news that has you so bothered?” Charles asked.

Merlin paused for a moment, thinking of how to praise the “news.” Then he said, “Andrew’s father is the Secretary-General.”

Charles blinked. “Of the UN? I _thought_ his name sounded familiar. He’s that Carrow family?”

Merlin nodded. “Yes, and ever since the Missile Crisis, Andrew and I have been keeping an eye on what the UN plan to do about mutants.” Like the few times Merlin had referred to the Missile Crisis before, Charles’ eyes turned dim and guarded. “Andrew’s father called him yesterday and told him the UN is seriously considering for its governments to require mutant registration.”

“Oh…oh dear.” Charles paled visibly and swallowed before asking, “Would you happen to know what registration would require?”

“All I know is that they would require mutants to reveal themselves to their government and undergo power level testing, so that they can be supervised. There was also something about government employment; I take it the governments might want to employ mutants, but I’m not sure about that. And I don’t know what they’d do if an unregistered mutant is discovered.”

“I see…” Charles looked down at his lap, and Merlin eyed him worriedly. The news seemed to have shaken Charles more than Merlin had anticipated.

After a few minutes of silence, Merlin watched as Charles gathered himself back together.

“Thank you for letting me know,” Charles said. “I’ll have one of the boys look into it as well, see if they can found out more. Here, if you need to contact me by phone or need a place to stay for whatever reason—”

He handed Merlin a business card, simple and cool slate gray on both sides. On one side, there was an embossed X encircled with the words “Xavier’s School for Gifted Youth.” On the other, there was an address to a place in Westchester and a phone number. Merlin flipped the card back to the X, giving Charles a raised eyebrow.

Charles shrugged, but smiled fondly when he said, “The boys took it upon themselves to create the cards for me. Actually, Hank made these too.” He gestured to the large Xs on his chair. “They’ve taken to being called the _X-_ men of all things.”

Merlin grinned. “It has a nice ring to it.”

“I suppose,” Charles replied with a laugh. “I’ll see you on Tuesday, Miles. Thank you again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this will be a short interlude chapter and then chapter 3, which is more than halfway written, so hopefully I will be updated soon!


	4. 02.5. Charles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short interlude chapter! (Un-beta'd.)

The warning Miles had given him left Charles shaken and filled with dread. A mutant registration act would leave so many exposed, especially the children. Nothing was ever completely secure in the government; people with nefarious minds could easily get their hands on that information and take advantage of those children and their powers—like Shaw had done to Erik.

Erik, oh god, _Erik_.

_“Identification, that's how it starts. And ends with being rounded up, experimented on. Eliminated.”_

The moment Miles had said “registration,” Erik’s words from the steps of Lincoln Memorial echoed through Charles’ thoughts. Erik would not respond kindly once he heard of the registration act.

“Professor? What’s wrong?” Alex asked when he came to pick up Charles from campus.

Charles shook his head. “Let’s get back home first; I want all four of us to discuss this together.”

“That bad?”

“Yes, Alex. It’s very bad news indeed.”

 

\--+--

 

“So if they pass this registration act, the US will also have to pass the act?” Sean asked.

“A simplification, but basically yes,” Charles replied.

Alex and Sean looked pale, while Hank frowned deeply.

“What should we do?” Hank asked.

Charles was sure Hank remembered how they’d destroyed all the CIA records on mutants the night they left the base in Richmond. Erik hadn’t even had to explain to Hank by the action was necessary; Hank was, of course, brilliant and could easily connect the dots.

Charles had considered the matter on the car ride back to Westchester. In hindsight, he should have added a memory block, instead of simply wiping Moira’s memory of the lead-up to Baengnyeong. Having her as an inside contact to the CIA would have been ideal now. Unfortunately that was no longer an option, but Moira wasn’t the only one from the CIA.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you earlier, but Hank, could you look into how the different countries are reacting to mutants? And look into the UN and see how likely it’ll be for the registration act to pass?” Charles requested. “Miles will be keeping me updated with what his husband can find out, but I’d like us to also get what information we can.”

“Sure thing, Professor.” Hank nodded, his mind already filling with the steps he’d have to take.

“At this point, there isn’t much else we can do, but be prepared,” Charles said. “We’ll have to step up training.”

All three boys nodded in agreement, their minds echoing determination and resolve, and Charles hesitated from saying what he felt he had to next:

“Erik won’t respond well once he hears about the registration act. I’m afraid he will react violently; we’ll have to be prepared for that, too.”

“Then we’ll whoop his ass,” Alex growled, crossing his arms. Sean swallowed but nodded.

“Alex,” Charles chided.

“No. He left us. He got you hurt and then _left_. Whenever I see him, the first thing I’ll do is punch him in the face, since you won’t,” Alex said.

Charles sighed at the stubborn frowns on the boys’ faces.

“We will discuss the issue later then. For now, it’s time to prepare lunch.”        

**Author's Note:**

>  **Edit 12.02.25** \- I'm sorry this hasn't been updated. This series has been put on the back-burner because of the big bro!Wes fic I'm working on as well as X-men Reverse Bang. I'm still working on and off on it, but I can't say when this will be updated next. Please know that this isn't abandoned though!


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